Trent's Insanity
by Smileyfax
Summary: Trent flips out. This is my first ever published Daria fic (uploaded to Outpost Daria 7 January 2001), and is only uploaded for posterity. Definitely not due to any intrinsic quality. Seriously, this is bad, don't read it. Or if you must, skip straight to the author's notes at the end. Don't read the story at all, for both our sakes. I beg you.


Mystic Spiral had finished setting up their gig at the Zen. Trent, Jesse,  
Nick, and Max climbed on stage. Trent stood at the front of the stage, while Jesse and Nick flanked him at three o'clock and nine o'clock, respectively,  
while Max sat at the drums near the rear of the stage. Trent began strumming his guitar; it sounds remarkably like the first five guitar notes heard at the intro for King of the Hill. Suddenly, Trent threw his guitar at the audience as hard as he could. He picked up an amplifier, and hit Jesse over the head with it, knocking him unconscious. He screamed "Wolverines!" and rushed out of the Zen, knocking over a nearby table. "What the...?" was all Jane, Trent's sister, could say.

Trent got into his car and drove at maximum speed and shortest distance to his house. This involved driving on the sidewalk. Trent wasted a few mail boxes and broke a fire hydrant before mowing down a hobo. He hit the brakes in front of a closed confectionary store and asked, "Are you all right?" The hobo said, "I think so, just a few scratches." Trent opened his trunk, got out the tire iron, and beat the hobo to death. He then picked up the body of the hobo and threw it through the window of the confectionary shop. He got back in his car and began to drive again.

All was quiet at the Lane house. That is, until Trent drove through the front door at sixty miles an hour. Miraculously, Trent was unhurt. "Darn house came outta nowhere, officer..." he muttered, and then burst out laughing. He got a sledgehammer from the garage and opened the hood of his car. He then proceeded to beat the living crap out of the engine. Trent then destroyed the windshield of his car, and followed up by completely destroying the steering wheel and the dashboard. He finished by going into the living room and throwing the sledgehammer at the television, creating a satisfying explosion. He remembered he had a gun hidden in the sofa, and took it out. He searched the house for intruders. He saw one in the bathroom, and shot him dead. Good thing, too. Trent saw the intruder also had a gun. That's odd, Trent thought. When you shoot intruders, they fall over. They don't shatter into a thousand pieces of glass. He walked to the front of the house where the ruins of his car lay. He saw a little man in a red cap trying to sneak into the house. "Die, shorty!" He fired three shots at the lawn gnome, shattering the yard adornment. A bird flew into the yard. Trent wasted it. Trent jammed the gun into his pocket and returned to the garage. Walking into the front yard, he started up the chainsaw. "...gonna get rid of that stupid tree once and for all..." Trent buried the saw in the trunk. The tree fell onto the house, demolishing Trent's room. Trent remembered that there was an upstairs bathroom, and remembered that intruders frequented bathrooms.

Upstairs, Trent had forgotten which door led to the bathroom. He had also not noticed that the saw had cut off the banister on the stairs. He opened the first door he came to: it was his room. The tree had made the seemingly-impossible-to-improve mess even more messiness. He saw a poster intact on the wall, though, and shot it because it resembled an intruder. Then he realized Kurt Cobain had been dead for years. The next door he opened had been Wind's room before he moved. He shot the intruders there; he wondered why they were all flat, hanging on the wall, and nude women. Trent returned to his room and got his hidden ammo cache; he now had ten full clips. He opened the closet and found he also had a shotgun. Trent pocketed the pistol and got the shotgun, as well as a bandolier of shells. Trent next entered the bathroom with the chainsaw up. He saw another intruder in this bathroom. This one also had a chainsaw. Trent rushed him, and destroyed him. The chainsaw cut into a tube of toothpaste, and splattered it all over. Trent wiped some off his face. He suddenly had an idea. He shoved the chainsaw into the drain of the bathtub.  
After a minute, the drain tore open, but the chainsaw was dying. Enraged, Trent threw the chainsaw at the widening hole with superhuman strength. It broke through to the first floor, taking a lighting fixture with it. Trent took the showerhead down and put it in the hole. Then, he turned the water all the way up. Water was now pouring into the 'dining room'. Trent had another idea, but he had to clear the floor first. He entered Jane's room with the shotgun ahead of him, and saw a monster. He got scared and wet himself, and fired the shotgun at the monster at the same time. It was really one of Jane's abstract paintings. Trent looked down and saw that he had to change. He took off his pants and found Jane's blue paint. He painted all that he could, but it was still very little. Suddenly, he realized he could wear one of Jane's clothes. He took some sort of skirt.

Jane had finally arrived home. She was literally stunned by what had happened. Trent had apparently flipped out. The house appeared to have been entirely destroyed. She finally found Trent in the kitchen, with a gas tank. "Trent,  
what are you doing with a gas tank?" Trent turned to Jane and scrutinized her as if she was the crazy one. "Preparing dinner, of course." Trent had a pan with the bird he had shot earlier in it. He had filled it with gas. He also put some shotgun shells in, for good measure. Then, Trent grabbed a bottle of oregano and put it in the pot. Jane carefully asked Trent why there was a gaping hole in the front of the house. "Oh, I crashed my car through there. I didn't like the parking job, so I got an axe from the garage and chopped the floor away. The car's in the basement now. Time to cook this!" Jane watched Trent move towards the basement, and presumably the kiln. Jane wondered what was wrong with using the stove (besides the fact Trent was cooking a recently-killed bird with a bottle of oregano, some shotgun shells, and lots of gas); it turned out Trent had already tried to 'cook' a fire extinguisher. Thankfully, Trent was probably out of the kitchen when the stove exploded.  
Jane followed her deranged brother downstairs. He placed the pot into the kiln. Jane moved to where the car was now 'parked'. It had smashed some of her mother's shelves which contained pottery, and had also broken some pipes. Taking a deep breath, she realized she was smelling rotten eggs. Hmm, that's just the same smell the safety teacher in elementary school told us to smell for if there was a natural gas leak...oh fudge. "Trent get that thing out of there NOW!" It was too late. The delicacy had already burst into fire in the kiln. Jane had no choice but to drag her older brother upstairs and outside. She barely got to the sidewalk when a massive explosion destroyed the Lane household, save for a single room. Miraculously, Jane's room was blasted clear an unknown distance. Police cars could be heard in the distance.

Jane awoke in the hospital. Her brother was in the next bed. A doctor walked in. "Well, Ms. Lane, you're very lucky. You could have been badly burned,  
perhaps even killed. Fortunately, you have a mere mild concussion. Oh, you may be wondering about your brother's actions. It turns out he had rabies..." Jane let out a sigh of relief. "...brain cancer..." the doctor continued.  
"...several major concussions, and had nearly every drug known to man in his system. We suspect the last happened due to a new 'super drug' developed by the CIA...oh wait, that's classified." Jane rolled her eyes; she cared not. "You'll be free to go in a few days. Oh, we've cured all your brother's ailment's, too, before you think of asking."

"So, Quinn had just stepped out of her room when yours crashed down into it. It was a perfect fit; nothing of Quinn's survived, though. She's taking the experience lighter than I would have thought, though; she's back on her guardian angel kick and on a self-imposed 'fashion sabbatical'. All in all, not a terrible way things turned out." Daria finished telling Jane about how Jane's room had blasted away from the Lane residence and now replaced Quinn's room. "Where's she gonna sleep?" asked Jane. "The guest room," Daria said. She bit into her slice as Jane explained how everything was going. "Well, it turns out that while mom & dad are almost never around, they maintained a million dollar homeowner's insurance policy. Since we destroyed our own property, the police aren't going to press any charges. It turns out that the hobo Trent killed was actually an escaped Nazi war criminal, and the confectionary store was a front for a crackhouse. The guy that Trent hit with his guitar isn't suing; in fact, he was a band scout and he feels that Trent is so 'edgy' that he's signed the band up for a three-month tour with Pearl Jam, and the possibility of more to come. And Jesse's been understanding about the whole amplifier thing." Daria nodded. "Let's go home." Jane had decided to move in with the Morgendorffers, since her possessions and room were now there. "Oh yeah, where's Trent going to stay?" Daria asked. "Why, your room, of course!"  
Jane replied with a devilish grin. Daria scowled at Jane.

Author's Notes: This is not my first Daria fan fic. This is, however, my first completed Daria fan fic. I jotted this up in one or two hours after fifteen minutes of laughing at the concept of Trent going insane for some reason. I didn't expect it to have a totally happy ending; the positive stuff just came to me. Some of the stuff may seem unbelievable (Quinn's self-imposed fashion sabbatical, for example), but I'd change my entire life if all my material possessions were destroyed, and my life was mere seconds from being destroyed along with them. If you liked this fic, hated this fic, or just want me to fic off, email me at either XXXXX or XXXXX. Have a nice day!

Coming attractions: Dark Angel/Daria crossover

Christopher Walken meets Daria

The Alan Spencer series

Note: I am marginally anti-shipper. I don't care to see Daria with Trent, with Ted, with Tom, with Jane, with anybody. Well, maybe in an Alan Spencer fic...  
but that's another story. However, I'll probably do the cliche Stacy & Ted deal, and also include the Ms. Barch-Mr. O'Neil relationship. However, stay tuned for surprises!

XXXXXXXXXX

Modern note (6/3/2013): I'm uploading this fic mainly for posterity, as it was my first published Daria fanfic and Outpost Daria (where it was originally hosted) is now gone. As you can see...it's bad. Really bad. Oh God, what was I thinking. It's...where do I start? I can't pick a place to start. This is uniformly shit. I'm astounded I was ever capable of writing something this terrible. Even the freaking author's notes annoy me. If I had a time machine, I would indeed tell my younger self to 'fic off' and learn to write better.

Look at those coming attractions. I remember that shit. The Dark Angel/Daria crossover was going to involve time travel as Jessica Alba's character went back in time to meet her mother - Daria - and also try to stop the EMP thing that wrecked America prior to the events of Dark Angel. If I hadn't stopped caring about Dark Angel after the first season or so, I might have actually written it.

And Christopher Walken Meets Daria (later proposed title: The Continental Meets the Misery Chick) was just a bad idea, since it violates my modern-day rule of 'No real person fics' because it seems a bit creepy. (Absurd cariactures of real people, such as Cyndi Lauper in 'Anthony DeMartino Just Wants To Have Fun' and Mr. T in the various stories I've written about him and Daria's obsession with him, are another matter). It would have involved Walken teaching drama classes at the high school as community service for drunk driving. Yeah, writing a story about a famous real-life actor driving drunk, I might have gotten my ass sued off. (Which is a real big reason I always try to adhere to my 'No real person fics' rule).

The Alan Spencer series? Eeeeeeeeuuuuuuuggggggghhhhhh. I actually wrote and submitted the first few entries to Outpost Daria. They were shit. They were WORSE than shit. I tried to write a non-Mary Sue-ish original character. IT WAS A SPECTACULAR FAILURE. Also, one entry had Carson Daly and Tom Green fighting an alien invasion (see previous paragraph re: real people fic). You could look them up on the Internet Archive, if you're a masochist. Seriously, don't. Just...don't.

...I've got it. What I hate most about Trent's Insanity is the awful, awful formatting. HOPE YOU LIKE HUGE WALLS OF TEXT! I know I sure don't!

I have to say one thing, my process for generating new ideas hasn't changed. If I think of a particularly good idea, I'll sit around for fifteen minutes laughing my ass off before I start writing. (This generally only applies to crackfics, and not bleak horror like the My Best Friend series).

Oh, the contact emails are both invalid nowadays, so I Xed them out. 


End file.
